


a midsummer night's spell

by cathrynwrites



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Midsummer Night's Dream - Shakespeare
Genre: Crossover, F/M, M/M, Short
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2018-11-12 22:54:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11171811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathrynwrites/pseuds/cathrynwrites
Summary: in which severus snape, determined to prove love is way stronger than albus thinks, pulls out a magic love flower which messes everyone's lives up, in an accurate-ish rendition of a midsummer night's dream.





	1. my heart unto yours

**Author's Note:**

> okay. so. this was inspired by a shakespeare project i’m doing in english;   
> it’s pretty jumbled timeline-wise and not entirely true to the plotline by  
> ol’ billy shakes, but still, a fair stab. only going to be four or five   
> chapters, max.

 

June 21, 1996, Friday, 11:33 AM

 

_Ay me! for aught that ever I could read,_

_could ever hear by tale or history,_

_the course of true love never did run smooth_

 

There was sixteen students in Charity Burbage’s NEWT class that year, sat in a symmetrical 4x4 pattern, facing the blackboard with identical expressions of curious interest. Most of them would have touched upon the subject of Shakespeare before — there was a portrait, original, (probably obtained through less than honest means Burbage had not mentioned in the information panel below) just outside her classroom — but none, upon asking, had read a play all the way through — except Hermione Granger.

“It was _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_ ,” she elaborated, “we studied in our final year of primary school.”

She was the only Muggle-born in the room, but Burbage had taught her students so well they all nodded knowledgeably at her Muggle terms: Hermione smiled graciously around the room, as though she had just performed a speech, and Professor Burbage scrawled _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_ onto the board, underlining it messily. Whilst the other teachers employed a wand to attend to such matters, Burbage preferred to not only _teach_ Muggle Studies, but show the students there was nothing at all wrong with using the Muggle ways too.

“That is, coincidentally, the very play we will be studying first. Please bring out your notebooks —” she began writing more on the board, “and copy the board. Shakespeare’s _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_ was written in 1595 and has since become one of his most popular works. It was believed to be written for a performance at a wedding…”

 

“...and it was criticised by Samuel Pepys, did you know that? It was the first recorded review of the play, and he said it was ridiculous. ‘The most insipid ridiculous play that ever I saw in my life.’” Hermione broke off from her avid encomium to shovel a spoonful of pea soup into her mouth, and continued, oblivious to the pronounced boredom of Ron and the falsely interested eyes of her boyfriend, Harry Potter. “And three of the moons of Uranus — oh, shut up, Ronald — were named after the characters; Oberon, Titania and Puck. Oh, oh! Did I mention that —”

“Probably.”

Hermione looked ever so slightly crestfallen at Ron’s dismissal of what had quickly become her new passion and looked to Harry for support; his eyes completely glazed over, he nodded, “Yeah, yeah.”

“ _Harry_ ,” she said, forcefully, giving him that look she gave him when she thought he was being stupid, and he properly woke up: “Finally.”

“Um, sorry,” he said, and grabbed a piece of bread. “Er — been a long day.”

Hermione rolled her eyes playfully, and attempted to catch Isobel MacDougherty’s eye from the Ravenclaw table. She was somewhat notorious for staying up days on end to study: last Hermione had heard, she was in the hospital wing for extreme exhaustion because she hadn’t slept all week in preparation for their Potions NEWT and had, consequently, missed it. Hermione had been partnered with her for the Muggle Studies _Shakespeare_ project and found a kindred spirit: Isobel too had read _Hogwarts: A History_ twelve times through, thought House-Elves were unfairly treated, and listened to the Spice Girls on her radio at home, which gave them enough conversation topic for several months at least.

Hermione raised her head again, smiling widely at the blonde, and caught sight of Draco Malfoy staring dark-eyed at her from across the hall, just behind Isobel.

Her smile quickly faded as his gaze didn’t move; he looked quite lost in thought, and possibly didn’t even notice Hermione was staring right back at him.

“What is it?” Harry asked, placing a concerned hand on her shoulder, and Hermione shook off Draco’s stare with a distracted grin at Harry.

“Nothing. Just — um. Nothing.”

 

Saturday, 07:48 PM

 

Hermione and Isobel had been by the lake for hours, now, long enough to not notice how cold and dark it was. They had several books spread beside them, mostly yellow paged textbooks either describing the first Goblin war or _Much Ado About Nothing_. The lake lay calm and smooth, an inky black with the reflection of the moon exactly in the middle.

“I didn’t think you liked Harry,” said Isobel, thoughtfully, her knees tucked underneath her chin. “I don’t know — I mean, you are completely adorable together, I just didn’t know ‘til you went out.”

Hermione shrugged, perhaps agreeing: “I had the most crippling crush for about five months before we went out.”

“Yeah, I mean, we’ve all had them — we all do.”

“Do you?”

Isobel paused, almost unwilling to reply, and the whole of Hogwarts was so completely still Hermione almost didn’t breathe. “Yes. Kind of — yes. But… he… well. I do.”

Hermione leaned forward, starving for the girl talk she had missed out of with six years of Ron and Harry: “Who?”

Isobel gave a false, breathy sort of laugh. “Oh, you’re going to _hate_ me — well — it’s Draco Malfoy.”

“... oh my god.”

His dark-eyed handsome stare across the hall yesterday did not seem like a good thing to bring up.

“See,” Isobel shifted, her legs crossed at the ankle, lying oddly open and calm. “Told you.”

“No, it’s not that — I just thought you would say something like… Michael Corner. Or Dean Thomas. I wasn’t expecting — not many people like Draco Malfoy.”

It wasn’t that he wasn’t handsome, Hermione mused — she wouldn’t look twice at him, not with Harry beside her — but he _was_ tall, and aristocratic, and his eyes were gorgeously piercing. It was his nature — he was like a human icicle, unfeeling, cold, above everything. Except her. He stared across a room at her.

He _liked_ her. Oh sweet fucking Merlin.

Poor Isobel.

“Yeah, well — I know he doesn’t like me.”

And it wasn’t that Isobel wasn’t pretty. She wasn’t, in the conventional way; she was cat-like and skinny and her hair too blonde for her small pale face, but she had a thing of interest about her. _Allure_. But she was too accessible for Draco. He probably knew she liked him; he probably would use that against her.

“I know he likes you,” Isobel shrugged, and for the first time, Hermione noticed a bitter note in her voice. “I won’t hold it against you — I mean, it’s not your fault. You have Harry.”

Hermione thought; I would do anything for you to have Draco.

“Yeah.” Another strangely still moment. “Look, Isobel, this might sound insensitive — me and Harry are going to the Forbidden Forest, just the edge, for a date tomorrow… well, I was wondering if you’d like to bring one too?”

“... um. Actually. I’m busy.”

 

Sunday, 10:19 AM

 

“Hey, Draco?”

It took a moment for the Slytherin to turn from his book — _The Practical Potioneer_ — and he did so with a disgruntled expression.

“What?”

“Um…” Isobel stood for a moment, unsure of how to phrase her next sentence, and sat on the table, biting her lip hoping she looked attractive.  “Um, I thought, since… since you…”

Draco raised a disdainful eyebrow, and Isobel let out a sigh that was hopeless and decisive at once.

“Since you like Hermione,” she said, looking as though someone had just punched her in the stomach. Draco’s lips parted, offended, and he was about to speak — “I know you do; I thought you might want to know. She and Harry are going on a date later. Forbidden Forest. She told me.”

Draco paused for a moment. “Why did you tell me?”

Isobel got up from her seat at the table, smoothing her skirt over her legs, and gave Draco a look that meant _you know why_.

And he did.

Before he could say thank you, she left.


	2. bewitch'd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow so i logged back into my old ao3 account and what do i find but this... unfinished... and it bothered me, so, here is the second chapter.

Chapter 2: bewitch’d

 

June 23, 1996, Sunday, 09:14 PM

 

_ Then crush this herb into Lysander's eye, _

_ Whose liquor hath this virtuous property, _

_ To take from thence all error with his might _

_ And make his eyeballs roll with wonted sight. _

_ When they next wake, all this derision _

_ Shall seem a dream and fruitless vision. _

_ And back to Athens shall the lovers wend, _

_ With league whose date till death shall never end.  _

 

Of the pair in the woods, one could barely be seen and the other shone bright in the moonlight, silvery and serene.

“Harry Potter,” said the more concealed of the two, “should be allowed to live.”

“Ah, but Severus,” replied the moonlit man, “you have heard the prophecy. ‘Neither can live while the other survives.’ And whilst Harry Potter has that piece of Voldemort inside him—”

Severus sighed, loud enough to cut his companion off, and his face twisted almost cruelly. “Yes, but — he shouldn’t have to die. Goddammit, Albus! He’s sixteen!”

The moonlit man, Albus, tilted his head. He had blue eyes, beautiful eyes, and they twinkled at Severus as he argued. “As was I when I -- _ahem_ \-- befriended one of the greatest villains to walk the earth; as where you when you fell in love. Age is but a number, Severus.”

Severus sighed again, and the trees seemed to quake; Albus did not smile, or twinkle, any longer. “Severus, you  _ must  _ understand. For Voldemort to truly die, Harry Potter must too.”

“But he  _ doesn’t _ .”

Severus, in that moment, looked like a sulky child, unwilling to let the last piece of his beloved slip through his fingers. Oh, if only that foolish Dumbledore could see how powerful love was — 

Severus lifted his head, suddenly looking quite cautious and cunning, the silver and green in him showing like light through a window. His employer frowned, wondering what had passed through the man’s head, when Severus stalked off in the direction of the castle, barely a mumbled ‘goodbye’ passing his lips.

 

It was on his way back he heard the students’ voices: knowing he ought to send them back to the castle with their ears ringing, he stood behind a tree, watching them. It was the unmistakable blonde head of Draco Malfoy and a girl, walking in small, hurried steps to keep up with his stride.

“Draco, what are you going to do? I thought you were just going to stop them going, not crash their date, I — Draco, slow down!”

It was Isobel MacDougherty, a previous favourite of Severus’. She had flashing green eyes and a hollow face; it was clear NEWTs had taken their toll on her previous prettiness. Draco whirled around and halted abruptly, looking annoyed.

“Then why did you tell me? Merlin, MacDougherty, what is your problem?”

It was clear to Severus and to Draco that this Isobel was very much in love with him.

“Draco, please. I thought you… never mind. Please don’t go, please, Draco.” She took his arm, pleading with those feline eyes, and Draco shook her off like a pesky animal. 

“Just leave me alone,” he said roughly, and marched further into the forest. Isobel collapsed to the ground, miserable, choking sobs shuddering through her body, and Severus felt something like sympathy. There was no way Draco would find — or get, even — that Granger girl if he tried; he ought to wake up and see Isobel right in front of him. 

Severus knew it was not only Albus he would be using that herb on tonight.

 

09:20 PM

 

Fred and George Weasley had been meaning to sneak into the potion dungeons for a long time now: Snape’s cupboard held a thousand useful ingredients for their — ahem — experiments, and as soon as they saw their batlike professor storm out of the castle towards the Forbidden Forest (they had a few theories as to why) they entered the greenish haze of the dungeons and began rummaging through his store cupboard.

“What,” came a dry, unsurprised drawl, “are you two doing here?”

Both the Weasleys stood stock-still — in all their time at Hogwarts, they had never,  _ ever  _ been caught roaming through the castle after curfew, and for that first person to catch them being  _ Snape  _ — the shame seemed quite enveloping.

“Erm. Remedial Potions?” tried Fred, with a breathless half-grin.  _ Caught _ .

Snape did not dignify that with an answer, and instead strode across the room towards them. “Normally,” he said, “I would reward you with several months’ of detention and a loss of one hundred house points for searching through — and planning to steal — my personal belongings. As it is…”

Both the twins looked more suspicious than relieved, however: Snape letting them off was similar to Ron actually  _ catching  _ the Quaffle.

“As it is,” he continued, “you are going to do me a favour. Stay there.”

He opened the cupboard to the right of the one the twins had been looking through and found a peculiarly Muggle-looking safe. He muttered something under his breath, typed the code in, and from it took a single, shining flower.

“Wow,” breathed George, never one to appreciate the beauty of flowers, but it was hard not to with this one: light seemed to emanate  _ from  _ it, and it changed from a pure white to a dusky rose pink to a deep purple before he could wonder what it was. 

“This,” said Snape, closing the door of the safe, “is possibly the most rare and valued potion ingredient of them all.  _ I  _ happen to know a small wood very, very far from here where they grow in abundance, but it seems prudent to keep one at school. In case. It is an  _ amor resurrexit _ , a love rose, rather unimaginatively named by the potioneer that discovered its uses. What is does, is: when properly treated and prepared, as I have done to this, one may use each of its petals to administer to the eye of — oh, anyone, anything — and the thing that person sees next, they will fall desperately in love with.”

Both Fred and George grinned.

“Now. I can’t be running around the Forest at all hours putting this on people’s eyes, so this is where I need you to help me — and believe me, I will alter your memories after so you won’t remember a single thing of it — by putting this on the eyes of Draco Malfoy.”

Fred gave a rather loud harrumph: “And if the next thing he sees happens to be a caterpillar?”

Snape’s nostrils flared. “You do this, I will punish you far worse than detentions. This flower is not like Amortentia, it does not wear off unless the administer wills it, it does not mimic love: it  _ is  _ love, real love, and you will have to value it as such.”

He plucked a single petal from the flower, and the twins watched it turn a chocolate brown and then ebony black and then, again the same angelic white.

“Take this and go. Be quick.”

 

09:24 PM

 

The centaurs were loud that night; their voices bounced off the trees and reverberated, echoed, caused the ground to vibrate. The leader of the pack — Bane — recognized this before the others, and set them quiet with his deep frown. 

“Centaurs,” he said, “tonight of all nights we must be silent. I have read in the stars a great confusion, an immeasurable chaos, mortals playing with the power of Aphrodite, so we must endeavour to be untainted by this.”

At the back stood Ronan, the most peaceful of his herd, and he tilted his head respectfully towards Bane as the centaurs halted.

“Sleep, if you can; the moon is out now and can be read clear from here, if you wish to do so.”

Ronan had no intention of sleeping, though the other centaurs settled: he intended to see this chaos Bane had spoken of, for Ronan had not interpreted it in the stars. He angled his head upwards, but saw only the moon — Bane was right, it was clear and beautiful, but there was no chance at a reading of the stars from this angle. He trotted slightly to the left, and then again; from here, he could just see a vague pattern of suns. Keeping his head up, he moved slightly forward, and — 

And almost stepped on a sleeping Albus Dumbledore.

How curious, the head of Hogwarts camping out here for a night! He looked as though he had succumbed to sleep quite by accident, his limbs sprawled uncomfortably, his neck crooked, his face as though about to speak.

“Albus Dumbledore,” muttered Ronan, patting the man’s shoulder with his hoof, and he arose quickly, blinking, and laid a pair of twinkling eyes on Ronan.

“Oh,” he said, and then: “oh! Ronan, is it not? You are so very wise, and so very  _ beautiful _ —”

“Albus,” Ronan said, quite unsure of what he had stumbled upon: a madman masquerading perhaps the only human Bane respected somewhat? “Albus, I think you have been the vic—”

“Speak slower,” he said eagerly, “so I may listen to you longer.”

“Erm, Albus, someone has —”

“No,” he breathed, “I am in  _ love _ .”

No; he was making a fool of himself. 

“Follow me,” he said, and Ronan thought he would be a danger to himself alone, so he nodded his head and followed Albus through the forest.

 

09:31 PM 

 

Hermione fell asleep on his lap, and she looked so beautiful Harry didn’t wake her, only moved her to the ground, placing his robe underneath her head. She was probably tired in prep for NEWTs, everyone was — including him. He let out a yawn, and smiled at Hermione one last time before shuffling to a darker part of the clearing to sleep, tucking his glasses in his pocket.

 

Fred and George had been wandering through the forest for what felt like  _ days  _ without finding that arrogant prick, Malfoy, or anyone else for that matter. 

“D’you think we’ll run into a dragon or something?” said George, only sounding a little bit jokey. 

“Nah, Dumbledore can’t have that much stuff hidden out here.”

“... I don’t think he’s ever  _ been  _ out here. Not properly. He might not know.”

Fred paled considerably, but did not tremble in the least: he clutched the petal tighter in his fist and stumbled forward, hardly able to see a metre in front of his face. 

“Hey, Fred!” said George, and then clapped a hand over his mouth. “Fred!” he whispered. “D’you think this is him?”

Fred studied the student — definitely a student, he could tell that much — for about a second. Truth be told, he was desperate to get out of these woods dragon or no dragon, and if this kid was Colin Creevey instead of Malfoy, he didn’t care.  _ Couldn’t _ : he could barely make out if his hair was blonde or not, it was so dark.

“Yeah, might be. Chuck some of this in his eye,” he said, and George did literally that. The kid, maybe-Malfoy, turned over in his sleep, blinking that stuff in, and the twins heaved a sigh of relief.

“Right,” said Fred, “which way’s back?”


End file.
